The Red Flag Offer
When I told the deputy chief about that, he praised the boss’s execution ability as tremendous. It felt good. And when I mentioned I was going to form a team through Eun-seong, he said it was fine since they were people he knew. With the deputy chief’s recommendation, I decided to use them. So when I asked for advice on how to handle the specific work, he told me to wait a moment.
Then in the next conversation, I found myself needing to reorganize the organization again. The deputy chief in charge of funds had proposed a personnel transfer, saying he wanted to run an orphanage. The deputy chief in charge of funds—now that he was out in the open, was it okay to ask his name?—said it was his lifelong dream. He wanted to give back to the society that had taken care of him while he was unwell.
“No, Deputy Chief. While saying that, how did you sell drugs?”
I don’t know. Anyway, since we found the person in charge, when I asked how the fund operations would be handled, he reported that he would do it together. I told him to let me know once he had a specific plan. In my view, this wasn’t the real problem. Preparing for war seemed more urgent.
I notified Eun-seong of his hiring acceptance, ordered him to get in shape, and placed him on emergency standby in the metropolitan area. I also covered the short-term rental and living expenses so he could set up group training quarters. He was extremely grateful. Spending money like that had its own satisfaction.
Honestly, when he said “war,” I wondered if bullets would start flying and Allah’s magic wand would spew flames. Thinking it over, though, that sort of thing probably wouldn’t happen in this country. Getting weapons wasn’t easy either. It wasn’t like America where you could just walk into a neighborhood gun shop. From the last Russian raid we only had three rifles and about 150 rounds. We burned through roughly 50 rounds staging the scene and destroying evidence. That was barely enough for me alone. I couldn’t hand any over to Eun-seong’s crew. Once he got back in shape, I’d have to teach him the eighteen movements. I showed him once already, but his arm was still stiff so it looked awkward. Still, he was adapting it. I’d have to spar with him later.
> Receive a contact. It’s redflag. —USarmy(41.2)
What contact? He was exactly like my brother—dropping only the business with zero context.
An hour later a message arrived from the unknown Red Flag.
Who was this? Why a reporter? I’d quit—or rather been fired—ages ago.
Ah, that crab-catching uncle.
Was I getting recognized by the US military brother? The thought suddenly lifted my mood.
Our Yeonpyeong Fisheries uncle? The name still didn’t stick. Crab-catching uncle? I’d just call him Flag uncle from now on.
Flag uncle’s proposal was simple. He would take the goods and hand them over, but he wanted payment in dollars, not won. Then I was to deliver the goods to a broker he designated and receive yuan in return.
?? Couldn’t the uncle handle that himself? There had to be a reason for such an odd arrangement. If I didn’t understand, I should ask.
?? He’d contacted me after being introduced by the Yankee, yet now he claimed the Yankees were the problem. The reason, he explained, was that UN sanctions on North Korea had tightened dollar controls. Banks handling trade payments were blocked, creating a serious dollar shortage.
Suddenly North Korea sanctions?
Right. I’d already found the half-mixed northern dialect strange from the start. Still, was the National Intelligence Service going to come knocking? I told him to keep talking; I just wanted to hear the story.
The North Korean situation was absurd. Dollar payments worked for imports but not for exports. Outgoing goods were fine; incoming payments were not. They called it U.S. imperialist oppression. Being thoroughly tamed by capitalism, I simply accepted it as normal. How commercial-minded could they be? For legal funds or daily necessities, China sometimes looked the other way and allowed dollar settlements. But drugs? What part of that was legal? China executed its own citizens when caught. Yet their basic motto was to make the impossible possible. An order had come down from above to generate dollars.
No matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t understand why they were offering this to me instead of the existing line—the US military brother.
Of course. But I got careless once and ended up at Pohang police station—and even visited Cancun.
According to Flag brother, it was a supply-surplus situation. Chinese offers fluctuated and sometimes disappeared entirely. When I asked why, he said the Chinese had no credit. They might take the goods, then fight among themselves and the whole organization would vanish. Was this a one- or two-day transaction? He spoke of obvious risks with deadly seriousness. They needed someone who could absorb the inventory, and that someone was me. The US military brother obviously couldn’t; he’d already handed all the grass over to me. But didn’t I have spare inventory capacity too? No, I didn’t. Still, what about the quality?
Whether because the pressure from above was intense, a sample arrived by quick delivery that afternoon. A quick test showed high THC and no impurities. Premium grade. I didn’t compliment it; I simply reported that I had received it.
This uncle seemed desperate. Was he really facing execution if he failed to deliver, like the media claimed? Roughly 14,000 won per gram—cheaper than farm price. Okay, pass. Sorry, uncle, but my gut told me to lowball him.
The Baccara guy had said the same thing and then changed his tune.
The goal wasn’t to receive the highest price; it was to bring in the most money. That became clear the next day when he changed the terms again.
As expected, production wasn’t sufficient. I’d thought he was bringing plenty of inventory.
It didn’t feel right to just agree, so I made a show of complaining. Even selling all year I couldn’t move that volume. With interest rates this high, did he know what loan-shark rates were running? Then, pretending reluctance, I accepted.
Thus I handed Flag uncle a generous bundle of emotional debt. That same day I asked the US military brother to exchange 200,000 dollars. He handled it coolly. Typical Itaewon. If the Filipino uncles operated on a larger scale, triangular trade would have been perfect, but since they were small they dealt with me. They even struggled to move 500 grams of hashish inventory.
No, uncle, that’s right on the military demarcation line. I can’t go! No, I won’t go. I’ll get caught by North Korean soldiers. These days the uncle cried a lot whenever we talked. There must be many restrictions. When he begged again, I agreed. Then he said only I should come. What? Suddenly I felt suspicious. Should I back out? My intuition spoke clearly: it was dangerous.
The conversation cut off. I thought the deal was over, but a message arrived. Set the place and time. So I replied that I would send a proxy. Five minutes later, after apparently reporting to his superior, Flag uncle contacted me again.
I sent the invitation.